The Poet

He spends long hours reminiscing of days past and the lives of old
where the merry can drink and be jolly and the music
never stops playing, but these memories are not his own
They are the memories of his ancestors like the great wars
or some dive-bar saloon in South Jersey, regardless
he has found a well of Inspiration from which to draw his water
and nothing will take away the luster that these stories hold
He is constantly making attempts to bridge the gap between fantasy
and reality
but he will consume his soul with the precision of his prose
in order to better serve his audience, to make them feel what he feels
to share with them the emotions of a romantic, even if
the emotions are that of a distant relative.
It matters not that he writes of the past
from his own perspective, or that he poses to be
someone he is not in his poetry
What matters most is that these stories and these notions
ideas and ideals, morals and anecdotes
get brought to life through a conduit of expression
and that facilitator
is the poet
forever